Hell Hospital
by Shirley J. Rains
Summary: The creature-features of Universal Studios given a Marvel movie treatment in modern times. You know, my favorite monsters the way /I/ would do them, the way you didn't know you wanted /sizzlehiss/.
1. 1 The Presentation

San Francisco

1977

Turkish profanity punctuated a shower of sparks that erupted from stage center. A big-eared man grappled with a cable as thick as his wrist as it spasmed with glittering gasps to-and-fro before the auditorium of dignitaries. Doctor Dorothea Darvula cast a furtive glance from the side of the stage. The phenomenal boredom of the assembly wasn't broken by the spectacle, and the man recovered in a barely uncomfortable amount of time. Still, Dorothea had swallowed another pint of oxygen that would not leave her body until this presentation was a bad cocktail anecdote.

The small explosion wasn't a blip on her foreman's neural radar. Papanav Reval swatted directions at his gaggle of stage technicians with Napoleonic patience. He was twenty-six and could bark angrily in as many languages, which he demonstrated when a crate dollied by two huffing lackeys careened into his path and threatened his cranial well-being. A swift pirouette dispelled the risk of concussion. Papanov strode backwards and beckoned the crate with one hand while the other whipped and spun around his body like a lasso. A lilting round of commands burst from his mouth, ostensibly followed by two laboring compatriots uncoiling and straightening out another roll of cord, this time from the center of the stage towards Dorothea. Words erupted from Papanav's lips in repetition. He dashed forward as the crate began to tilt. The electrical team dashed in on both sides, pushing their shoulder's into the corners of the crate like puppies fighting for milk. Beads of sweat poured down Papanav's bright red face and neck. He muttered commands until the box was jilted into place right beside the podium. The men stepped back, one clapped Papa on the back as he stooped over and found his breath. Once he could right himself, he held out an arm and was handed a crowbar that was a foot taller than he was. Bouncing it from hand to hand, he eyed the tall crate with appreciation. As he moved to approach it, however, Dorothea stepped forward.

"Just that bottom panel in the back, Papanav. That way we can get it plugged in." She smiled, and reached for the crowbar. "I'd like to do it during the presentation, Papa."

Papanav's face fell, his shoulder's slumped, and the whole crew seemed to lose a few inches of stature. He dutifully pried off the small section and picked it up, and relinquished the crowbar to Dorothea.

"Other crates, Papanav," Dorothea said. She remained behind to podium as Papanav barked out a few more commands. The tank began to throb with the dull grind of electrical power. The boys paced the stage one final time, ducking to retrieve tools from the stage, and lined up beside Dorothea. They all dressed in Papa's style, buttoned-up plaid shirts that inevitably untucked themselves from large tan pants held up with dull suspenders. Each offered their glum benediction; they wanted to see the crate opened. Dorothea shook each one's hand and thanked them.

"This is precise work gentlemen, and you nailed it tonight. We like having you guys with us and we want you to stay. We feel like you just can't walk away from working with science. After seeing these secrets, we'd have to kill you- ask the last team!"

The guys stared at their shoes.

"You're appreciated, and Leanord got you all seats."

Papanov answered for everyone. "Dorothea they can't understand you. And I told them you'd probably get us seats. They want to see me use that big bad crowbar!" He mimicked throwing his body against it and being flung back, and the guys all laughed with him. Dorothea smiled and shoo'd them away, giving Papanov hasty directions to where Leanord was waiting.

Acrid dust drifted out of the projector and diffused over the dignitaries of medicine and science assembled at Reiser Hall. They sat uncomfortably in their seats and balanced vegetables on small disposable plates. Some used the end of the break to stand up and remove expensive layers of rayon and wool. They buzzed with opinions on the day's startling presentations over soft unassuming piano music from the address system. At the podium, Dorothea Darvula shuffled her notes and peered through narrow eyelids over the horizon of the audience to where the sound booth was. She squeezed everything she had told Gus the sound technician during their short rehearsal into a powerful and penetrating glare. Somehow she could smell his cigarette smoke and condescension from here. It was six? slides; Dorothea tried to believe in him. She ignored the words on her cards but could not stop adjusting them. It distracted her from the herd of petty cooing doves that were fidgeting in her periphery. She saw a beam of light shoot out from the left of the auditorium as Papanav and his crew entered and made their way to the edge of the wing where the world's biggest and sweetest penguin Leonard Krammer waited for them. She knew he studied his program furiously for her benefit; throughout the setting up process he had stared and dabbed tears from his bespectacled eyes. Dorothea prepared every precise detail of this presentation but had failed to steel herself for the very real possibility that she wouldn't hear from Leanord after tonight. His blind faith in her had impelled Stanford to take her, and though it had cost him over the years his pride in her never wavered. Leanord dreamed of seeing Dorothea take the shape of her mother, his former colleague Dr. Gertrude Darvula. Their lives hadn't overlapped enough to leave Dorothea with any impression of her, so she spent a lifetime deciphering her mother's scientific legacy, and exhausted an old-world fortune with private forays into technology and biology that left Leonard baffled. He had been content to patronize her work and hope his old colleague smiled down from heaven. Two weeks before tonight, Dorothea's mail box contained an envelope embossed in black and gold. Inside was an invitation to her own surprise party, addressed to a Doctor Zingu Trask. The banquet hall of the Marriot was booked in Leanord's name tonight. It was stuffed with champagne, violets, and the intention to hobnob with admiring stars who would congratulate the Karmmer-Darvula foundation for its visionary leaps in whatever it was Dorothea had done in those rooms full of sparkling machines. Leonard's anachronistic understanding of science made Dorothea's explanations incomprehensible to him; he had never suspected her of being vague. For seven years she had cloaked her work in jargon, jibberish, and outright lies, protected by a thin bubble of nondisclosure agreements and foreign contracting. Several times she had feared some prying finger from the outside world would pop that bubble, exposing her earlier attempts at science. Whether or not her revelations were published, if the outside world knew nothing of Dorothea's work then for a second at least she was taking a sledgehammer to that bubble. This room of fools at least would never be the same.

The house lights dimmed. Dorothy felt the PA hum with her breathing.

"Esteemed colleagues." She tried the words out as the milky image of her first slide flashed above her. Considerate members of the audience muffled their conversations, others continued unabashed.

"Celebrated chemist Albrecht Hespentzen can be seen here with the mutton-chops and so much lace. He wrote in 1899: 'Unfetter the curious mind and it will drive a wedge into all it touches, dividing the world into thinner tendrils of tinder. Man reduces by nature, and resists the notion that far down he may encounter that which resists division- a fundamental piece of the world which cannot be split, only destroyed.'"

Dorothea winced and peered toward the sound. A glint of light winked at her from the back of the theatre,and she heard the slide click. A rough matchstick against an eggshell white background towered over her. It was her favorite matchstick in the whole Smithsonian archive. It had never struck her as possibly dull before.

"'Consider the matchstick. Split it, and you will not have two matches. No keen hand or divine concentration can whittle off another. Many times I've stuffed a matchstick in my pocket only to find it snapped, and it is undeniable annihilation.'"

"Hespetzen went on to write about the atom."

An audible sigh broke from Stuttgart. He shifted his legs and adjusted his belongings.

"Will this presentation be straying from this weird history of archaic notions, Doctor Darvula?"

Dorothy ignored him. "Influenza robbed Hespetzen of seeing the atom split. He even missed the discovery of elements #[[look up this fact, atoms discovered after 1920]]. But industrious students at MIT were sober once long enough to remember this passage, and thought to commemorate his loss by using a laser-" Dorothea signaled for the slide to change. She tried to see the audience's expression. Lasers always rocked people's world.

"To slice in half this matchstick."

Dorothea could count the carrots snapping in front of her now. It was veritable silence, and she liked it.

"In fact, here is that matchstick again, parted into 99 parts this time and arranged on a birthday cake, and when Albrecht Hespentzen would have turned 99 they lit them and sang." Another click, nerds in party hats. She sighed. It looked so cool. They better be thinking it looked cool.

"It demonstrates something we all love, which is that with money, time, and beer, science will push forward and portion out smaller pieces from yesterday's impossibilities. Nothing denies divorce."

"Honestly!" The professor was on his feet now.

The voice that answered him sounded clean and cold, like a young attractive surgeon.

"It is a pity that you have an eleven-year-old's attention."

"Now MATT, be nice." Dorothea laughed.

"I'm sorry, Doctor Darvula."

"He's only being formal to impress you, you wouldn't believe what he calls me at home."

The shadow of the audience lightened in hue. Dorothea had the whites of their eyes. She took a step back and planted her foot, and heaved the crowbar into the crate. There was a thunderous collapse, and the audience strained to make out the contents against the glare of the stage lights. There were screams. A glass broke.

Verdant plasma sloshed from a tank parallel with Dorothy. Bubbles orbited and drifted toward the top and the dark shape eliciting them bobbed in the center. Long metal shanks protruded from it, some linked to tubes, some to wires. The mass's tenuous suspension shifted, giving the audience a complete look at the rubbery gray baby in the tube. In front of them an agile electric tendril fished through the water until it found its insertion site and plunged deep, delivering substance and probing for signal, nurturing and measuring.

"Don't be alarmed," it said. "I am the Matchstick Man."

"What the hell is that?" someone screamed from the audience. It looked like the sassy white-suited scientist was on his ass.

"I am the Matchstick Man, a perfect marriage between mind and machine."

"Half a dozen speakers today have promised limitless applications of their computing machines, only to frustrate you with the limitations of processing and memory. Where others have presented limitations and petitioned your patience, I have found the key in a computational amphibian at home in flesh and machine. By imbuing machine with the human mind's lightning impulses and powerful intuition, I've unleashed a super-intelligence that exceeds the capacities of either.

"Do not confuse this for an advance in computing. This is a contribution to the medicine of humankind.

"Right now MATT's personality is robotic, uninflected. The chemical environment utilizes his organic systems without imprinting them. His human material is smooth, unexperienced. If allowed, he would begin to map relationships and conform to experiences, generating a unique character but for now he is restrained. Reserved."

Click. what do they seeeee

"There is a process, costly and dangerous, as yet uncharted; but when mankind is ready, we will imprint Matchstick Man. Lasers will map and articulate the subject's brain to the smallest mannerism and then sculpt a soul out of the stem cells and clay, a form of the person- which if stored in the proper medium- live as long as man creates 120 volt alternating current."

Someone screamed. Hadn't somebody already screamed?

"Don't be alarmed," MATT said. "I know that you are confused. This is a lot for your brains to take in."

"Is that the baby?" Someone in the audience said. "Is the baby talking to us?"

"Miss Darvula, this isn't science! This is blaspheme!" The blond haired man was back on his feet, his stiff arms flapping by his sides. "A whole baby?"

MATT told her it would be the first question. Exactly half of the questions she would get to answer.

"My original model dissolved everything but the brain. This produced stunning machines. They found ways to heal damage to themselves, engineered solutions to mass transit, predicted reliable stock data and engineered moral codes sophisticated enough to refrain from revealing the information to us. They were the computers little boys dream about and I wanted more.

"So much thinking occurs outside the brain. The entire spinal cord encodes interactions both invisible and precise. The skin responds to anger, music, mathematical reasoning, and learning. So does the digestion system.

"This little dude floating next to me is a goldfish in a bowl; he won't grow any bigger, or come to any awakened understanding of his life. He's a sponge, a floating processing chip that MATT uses to synthesize human personality."

"Yes, but." The voice was afraid of the implications. "This is murder! Where did you get him?

"Almost a decade I've worked in secret; and when the time came, I had him myself."

Abruptly, her microphone cut out.

"Hey!" MATT said. The speakers hummed again, and Dorothea knew she could speak. Sparks caught her eye, from the booth. She heard the bright popping of little glass tubes. MATT's temper was coming out.

The sides of the auditorium filled with scientists, the fronts of their pants smeared with ranch dressing. A few were standing in the rows, shouting objections at her. Stuttgart demanded the auditorium's fuse be pulled and Darvula's creation destroyed. Dorothea searched for the face of Doctor Krammer, and found him sitting patiently in his chair with his leg crossed. She met his eyes and winced with a smile. He beamed at her.

Two men lumbered onto the stage, and the lights went out.

"Don't be alarmed, I've been instructed not to hurt you," MATT said. "Besides, this is all a model; you have no idea where I am actually located. I'm being transmitted here by means which would baffle you."

The men stood next to Dorothea and panted. She could smell the sweat under their stiff white shirts.

"But you had better step away from Doctor Dorothea Darvula. Your behavior would frighten a lesser person, and she is quite capable of flattening you with her palms."

Dorothea smiled at the closest man. He and his partner lowered themselves off the stage, and joined the throng of panicked spectators. MATT pulled up the houselights and opened all the doors in the building. His system tweaked the stoplights outside to accommodate the swarm of vehicles. Each person going had a small string of electronic coincidences set to unfold over the next few weeks to help them absorb the stress of the presentation. Human safety was MATT's directive. And although his statistical models were certain that everyone would leave the room unharmed, he remained on alert until the last person exited.

"Not bad, MATT," Dorothea said.

"It could have been worse," MATT said.

The only body in the audience left began to clap.


	2. 2 a bunch of unedited stuff after ch 1

[[[SO after this point there are portions I haven't reread since writing. Names and places kinda move around in my mind, i leave blocks unresearched, so i can't imagine this staying enjoyable but! for posterity]].

"What am I supposed to say, Dee? She would be so proud." Leonard had his feet propped up on the banquet table. Dorothea cradled her legs on top of the table. She was doing her level best to keep her godfather from regretting purchasing so much champagne. She burped.

"I insist on being the donor, Dorothea."

"Oh, Leonard, you can't."

"Now I don't care about the dangers Dee."

Dorothea fumbled with the foil around a bottle and raised it to her face to uncork it. An attendant in a red vest of crushed velvet apprehended the bottle and utilized a more dignified procedure to relinquish its cork. He replaced it in her fist.

Dorothea blinked at the bottle thirstily, threw her head back, and engaged it without much spilling. "It's not just the dangers, Leonard. There's something else we need to talk about." She rolled onto her side and propped her head up with her hand. Deep pleats knitted up in Leonard's brow. He looked quizzical and helpless.

"It is becoming difficult to produce funds, Dee," he said. "For something like this we could begin to liquidate certain person assets."

He quieted as Dorothea took another long fizzy gulp of the sparkling beverage.

"Money later, Leonard. There's just one thing you might have that my project desperately needs.

"Where have you got mother's brain?"

Leonard had a slight tic on the left side of his mouth. Sometimes when it twitched it meant he was lying. "Gertrude's head lies in the Charenaugh Cemetery wtf are cemeteries called lol, where we lowered her that rainy October day-"

"Let's cut the bunk, old friend. I know her, and I know you. And since I had a group of very confused interns dig up her body and look, I know that what you've told me is exactly wrong."

Leonard's deep eyes bulged. Dorothea had never seen disappointment or disgust on his face, but she imagined something in between flashed across his face and she winced. The wine had made her words crass.

A deep breath pushed through his wide nostrils. He surveyed his options in his head.

"I have a computer with super intellegince, Leonard. Maybe even hyper-super intelligent. Please don't lie."

He sighed. "It's in a frozen gel- still perfect. But she wanted it saved, Dorothea. You remember her dreams of extra-terrestrial contact. Can't we make sure it works, first?"

The bottle smacked on the table as Dorothea raised herself up. "But I know the process will work. MATT knows it will work. We don't have the resources for two runs Leonard."

He straightened his silverware without looking at it, and Dorothea wondered if his mind was on the stars.

"Look, I know you want to tell me the reasons I am wrong. It's a beautiful vision, Leonard. Wouldn't you rather me hear it from her? If she gets back and the first thing she wants to do is give me the silent treatment and conduct a general survey of the known and speculated universe, fine. Perfect, right?"

She looked at his face. His chin rested on his chest, his eyes squeezed a trickle of hot tears down his big rough cheeks. Dorothea felt the guilt of knowing one has serendipitously manipulated their way to victory.

"Let's do this Krammer."

He nodded. Dorothea jerked her head at the waiter, who poured them a toast.

"What do you say?"

Leonard took a long look at his glass and hoped the popping bubbles would unlock some words within him. He cleared his throat, and the rasping in his bellows felt like the shaking of dry leaves.

"You've astounded the world Dorothea Darvula. On this day, God himself has asked, "What is it you have done?"

Airport scene. Dorothy takes a ride with an investor in his private plane. It's the vampire, who makes his offer and invitation

The skyline faded from red to black. Cold winds cut through Dorothea's bright windbreaker. She took a long drag from her cigarette and watched a 70s aircraft take off. She wondered what it would take to steal and sell one. She calculated what could be repurposed from the onboard navigation, or the what computer parts were in a 70's aircraft?. It seemed like a lot of money someone was spending, just to drown people and sometimes move them around.

Threats against her life were waiting for Dorothea in her room, and continued to arrive in a steady stream. They were all screened in case the belligerence veiled an offer of funding, but no interest surfaced. She knew Leonard wanted to give her the money, but her interns had investigated his holdings and reported it to her to the cent, proof the name Darvula remains gold on graduate school applications. Leonard's remaining fortune might get the next phase of research off the ground for a few months. MATT designed the project with optimal efficiency, being utmost sensitive to price. Nevertheless, most of the components in their machine did not yet exist and would have to be created from industrial scratch. There were options. Pieces of the research could be monetized. Markets for her computing inventions would begin to open up around the world. Once things were off the ground the project could crawl along through artificial acquisitions and bankruptcies. The evil sciences had pioneered entire branches of tax fraud. They could rob the space program or the military. Taxpaying, Dorothea thought, was not its own reward. So far as she was concerned Dorothea had paid for those things. She knew an investor was improbable but over the past few months Dorothea had spent that money already, populating dreams of escalating grandiosity with capacitors and laser machinery that could make Czechoslovakia drool.

Her hands pulled around in her pockets as she felt the pressure of a body standing beside her. From her peripheral Dorothea admired the man's long black coat, his tight haircut, and slim, angular frame. She wanted to see if the man was looking at her, and checked his reflection in the mirror.

There was no reflection.

"Good evening, Dorothea Darvula," the man said. His voice bounced with an accent that Dorothea couldn't place. She turned, and summed the man up. His shoes were leather, hand-stitched and cared for amidst the stormy weather. His red and white gingham shirt was tucked into pleated khaki slacks so tightly that the back of his body made a seamless straight line.

"The men that know my name are never dressed this well," Dorothea said. "What's up?"

"I need to discuss your research with you," the pale man said.

"Look man, I'm not asking for any trouble."

"I think that I can assist you. Won't you join me on my private plane?"

"Where are we going?"

"Do you care?"

Dorothea stared into the man's hard brown eyes.

"Listen dude, I need money badly, but I'm not at anybody's mercy. You'd better tell me where we are heading."

"Why, anywhere you like Dorothea Darvula. I believe your destination was Chicago, where you complete satellite work for the Hayes Public Hospital. You have some interesting research in infant cardiac studies to present next week. Impressive stuff. Either of the lives you live would astound any informed observer."

His pale cheeks tightened into a smile. A loud swallow escaped Dorothea's throat.

"You know a lot about my research, Mister…"

"Doctor Durham Zayne. Mister?" The accent was thinker when he was amused. "I worked my ass off for that degree. I do know a lot about your research, because I'm two things: rich, and curious about your work. Make that three things, I'm also late for my private jet where a gourmet meal is getting cold. Now, will you join me?"

Dorothea used the airport payphones to amend her plans. She let MATT know what was going on, and he assured her she was safe. Zayne swore her arrival time need not shift, so her conversation with Director Powell over at Hayes didn't involve any mention of the change in Dorothea's plans. Jeryl did require a doctored version of Dorothea's presentation.

"I haven't heard from any donors," she admitted, "But people admitted we should be seeing some serious advances in te way cardiac thechinology is developed in this country."

"Well you've got to be sure to take everyone's name,"Jeryl said, "And we are going to hound these people with baskets every day. Now Dorothea, we've been making up the baskets, there's two rooms we can't put patients in anymore…"

A smile creased her cheeks. Jeryl was more than capable of running the hospital without her. She tuned in the highlights of Jeryl's chatter and looked through the window at the row of docked airplanes. Water from the intermittent rain drizzled down their sleek white fusilages, rows of windows dotted them- some shuttered, some shining. Designations on their tails reminded Dorothea that these were professional airliner vessels, not private aircraft. Still, she smiled again and wondered which one was Dr. Zaine's.

The aircraft was solid matte black.

"How is this thing legal?" she asked.

"I thought you might have understood, Doctor Darvula, that at some level of society anything is 'legal.' Permisable, anyhow. I've seen three personality profiles on you Doctor, and none of them suggested you were naieve."

A really good comeback died on Dorothea's lips as she stepped into the foyer of Zaine's plane. Black velvet covered the walls and ceiling. The floor was a zebra-striped pattern, illuminated by overhead lights that oscillated between different shades of purple. Deep couches lined the walls. In the middle of the room fog wafted off a humming hot tub.

"I'll take advantage of your stunned silence to sneak in a few questions. Yours will take forever. Did your research ever bring you into contact with the paranormal, Dorothea Darvula?"

"What's 'paranormal' mean?" She turned to him, her eyes wide in their thin wire frames.

Doctor Zaine's mouth parted in a grin. White triangular points poked out between his lips.

"Oh. So you're a thing that exists."

"Let's sit down, Dorothea Darvula. I can fill you in on some of the details of my offer."

"Your offer?"

"I want to fund your research, Dorothea. In full."

Dorothea surveyed the room again. "Let's sit down. Not in the tub."

"Well, not until take-off." He led her past the dark steaming surface toward the back of the plane where a horseshoe couch wrapped around simple white table. A checkered board with tall metal chess pieces took up its surface. They sat on opposite sides of it. Zaine spread out comfortably, his long arms draped the glossy back of the seat, his legs splayed out and demonstrated the vague flair of his pantline. Dorothea wondered if he would pull out a pair of purple-shaded sunglasses. Maybe a good Christmas gift idea.

"Have you eaten, Dorothea? I desperately need a drink."

He raised a hand, and Dorothea saw a door open behind him. A line of four dark-haired women in neat white uniforms filed out. The last of them pushed a cart with two levels lined with platters of food. While the others were expressionless, Dorothea noticed that the woman pushing the cart was watching her feet, her chin welled up and her dark lower lip pushed out. She pulled close to the chess table while her coworkers assembled dinner trays in front of Dorothea and her host. A beige card with deep-stamped letters appeared in front of her.

"We took a look at some of your favorite dishes," the nearest attendant said. Her throat had a deep rasp, and her accent was distinct from Doctor Zaine's. Her hair fell over her left shoulder in slow dark rivulets.

Dorothy looked over the menu. Malt-o;-Meal. Pineapple upside down cake. Dishes she hadn't seen in decades dotted the list.

The sweet dry notes of juniper berries sang in Dorothea's nose. A Tom Collins appeared before her in stout green glass, its surface dappled with condensation. Across from her, the woman that had pushed the cart leaned in to Zaine's whispering mouth.

Tabouli with yak's meat. Huh.

Zaine's hand moved towards the woman's face. His mouth contorted with apology. The woman stared ahead, her eyes glazed over with impatience. Zaine's finger traced her jaw, her neck. His lips fluttered.

"Later."

Peanut butter Captain Crunch- whaaat?

"I'll take the chowder," she said, "and some of that cheesecake when I'm done. And then the steak, raw, and a doggy bag."

The women shuffled to complete her request, and Dorothea's eavesdropping lost focus. Her eyes popped open when the silver cover came off the platter and revealed toasted garlic French bread nestling a creamy filling of clams and cream and dill. Her nose could almost touch the carrots and celery and yellow onion. Her fingers ripped a piece from the rim of the bowl. She scooped a large wedge into her mouth. Her tongue pushed through the bread like pudding, the salty broth is chowder a broth? seemed to enter her bloodstream directly from contact with her mouth. She looked lustily at the rest of the dishes and wondered about their fate. Handing kitchen duties over to MATT had been a disaster. He had difficulty organizing concepts like economy, taste, and nutrition. The only thing they agreed on was black-peppered popcorn.

Impervious to Dorothea's gaze, the cart was rolled back into the room. She was alone with the _supernatural_ dude.

"You are taking this well, Dorothea."

"Well, I'm not so naïve as you might think. I've known some evil people, and you know I need the money. I can tell that you wouldn't have brought me here unless you had something good to pitch to me, so go ahead. Why should I not be one hundred per cent horrified by all this?"

"Because we're carrying one billion crates of organ tissue. Umm learn the right way to describe that ben. My industry does all this blood and transplant stuff that should make sense from the point of view of 70's medicine, and the facility I'm opening will put these advances in people's hands much faster than private industry would."

Dorothea was glad for her drink. She sipped it and inhaled its hot flavors into her chest.

"So, do you want to describe yourself a little, or is there a specific movie I should watch? Horror's not really my thing."

"I'm a Scorpio," he said.

"Good, I've never had a Scorpio confuse business and partytime on me."

"Good bosses, yes." Zayne straightened in his chair and reached for the ornate decanter on the tray before him. He lifted it, and the stopper rattled in its setting. "My situation is simple, Doctor Darvula. I killed a man when I was thirty-four- do not ask me why, what's important is that I did not suspect that the man I killed was harboring a demon, a dark spirit put on earth for the punishment of its people. It craves misery and blood, and if it is not fed then I will lose control of its powers. Besides that, I guess I'm not too far from your Hollywood Dracula. Sunlight would singe my flesh. I only rest easy on a bed of my native soil. Traveling over water makes me queasy. Articles of religious faith disgust me, and my reflection dances on Satan's refrigerator so shiny surfaces tend to ignore me. When our professional relationship matures my attorney will present you with the do's and don'ts, for now common sense should suffice."

Dorothea's nose quivered. Zayne's thumb popped the crystal topper off. It clapped against the table.

"How are you doing, Dorothea?"

"I'm not sure I can watch you drink that."

"For now. You'll become inured with time."

An aromatic breath escaped Dorothea's lips. She contemplated her olive.

"I'm oscillating between grossed out and impressed."

"You're done looking for funding. If you'll become my partner, we can have this machine you're dreaming of built in seven years. My hospital is in renovations; any laboratory you can design, you can have. For your assistants you can pick from the greatest minds in the world- they are all attracted to my institute."

"Then why do you want me?"

"Because conventions of morality crumble in the fiery intensity of your work. You're an evil genius, Dorothea Darvula, and I have a secret project that I think you might have a singular perspective on."

"I plan on being very busy for the next seven years."

Zayne put his hands up in mock defense. "Just some notes are all that I'm asking for. Talk me through the occasional problem. I could even end up assisting you."

"So long as Santa Claus and that evil leprechaun are busy." Dorothea take another sip of her drink. "Where is this place, and when can I see it?" Her guts sank. She wondered how long she would need Jeryl to run the hospital for her.

"It's in Florida. I only need to tell the pilot, and she will make the necessary adjustments to her course. It is an eight hour diversion."

Dorothy nodded. She had always wanted to visit Florida. The sunshine state.

"I'll return. Please, explore the compartments and consider resting. You'll want to be fresh."

Dorothea always did have trouble sleeping on airplanes, even accompanied by demon-possessed abominations. Maybe he carried Bull-Dozzze.

When Dorothy stepped into the humming halls of _FUCKINGHOSPITALNAME_ she eyed the cheery receptionist with gratitude. Mountains of curly red hair billowed down her shoulders and framed her thin gold spectacles. It added to Jennifer's aura of shimmering friendliness. Dorothea had worried that the flight attendant's had demonstrated a cookie-cutter approach to staffing on Zayne's part.

"Greetings Doctor Darvula. You've beat Dr. Zayne by a good twenty minutes. I'm afraid you'll be bumping into a lot of personnel who are at the end of their shift." Jennifer whispered. "Doctors can be cranky."

Dorothea laughed. "I can show myself around for a while."

"Good, everything smells like pine and lemon at this hour. You'll love it. Listen to the intercom, when Doctor Zayne gets here I'll page you."

"You're sugar Jennifer."

Dorothy left the pink shimmering receptionist's desk and surveyed the wide black marble hallways. A man with an angular face brushed past her while pushing a buzzing floor mop, leaving in his wake fumes of aseptic chlorine. As their shoulder's brushed Dorothea made out a tune escaping his lips. It eluded her. She caught her own reflection in the aluminum panels of a roll-up door as she passed the closed gift-shop. Its funhouse distortion flattered her; strands of hair jutted from her loose curls, and a dash of makeup that contributed less concealment than theatrics brightened her face. In San Francisco her cats were probably entangled on the bed, guarding the only true rest known to humankind until Dorothea could return to share it with them. Until then she would rock from one bony hip to the other and construct logarithmic behavioral models to explain to nocturnal patterns of sheep.

Zayne had described the elevator in the Northeast corner of the hospital. A door perpendicular to it caught Dorothea's eye. She heard whistling from inside, and this time she recognized the tune. With the tip of her suede mauve loafer Dorothea nudged the door open.

"Ravel's 'Bolero,'" she said.

The man stopped whistling. He looked at her with eyes like little black points set deep in the sharp geometry of his face. There was no mistaking the old man she had just passed in the hall.

"Weren't you whistling that when we passed?" Dorothea asked.

"Well, it's often on my lips. Are you here a lot?"

"No, it's my first night. In the hallway, just now, I passed you going the other way."

"Oh," the man laughed, showing small round teeth dappled with gold specks. "A bit of déjà vu. They say it's common in hospitals."

Dorothea tapped the button for the elevator. "Yeah?"

"Reader's Digest said so, on their Facebook page. They still have great stuff, that Reader's Digest." He hadn't stopped scrutinizing her.

"My name's Dorothea."

"Call me Doc."

"Can I come to you if I get lost, Doc?" She flashed him a smile of her own.

"How will you find me if you're lost?" Doc looked like he thought he was being made fun of.

"I'll have to rely on that déjà vu." She refused to let her smile break.

"Hmph." The man's eyes fell to the floor. His work immediately absorbed him.

The elevator dinged. Dorothea stepped inside and gave the button that would close the doors four quick pokes. They dinged shut.

Lighted buttons formed the diagram of a tree. Durham's hospital had seven floors above ground, three below it for parking. One could open or close the doors, halt the elevator, or alert emergency services.

Dorothea mashed the emergency services button down and counted the seconds. The elevator's humming intensified.

Something clicked. Dorothea was in the dark, and then the familiar glow of soft red lights filled the elevator. The humming stopped, and the elevator began its rickety descent. A display of red led dots marked the floors as they passed the levels of parking. Dorothea wondered curiously what they would show as she continued to drop.

"I," it read. Then, "II." It dinged through nine levels of roman numerals before lingering at "IX." Steam decompressed and billowed at her feet as the doors opened and light fell on her trim pantsuit.

"Welcome to my chambers Doctor Darvula," Zayne said. They were in a wood paneled hallway, narrower than the hospital corridors. The air had a warmer glow. It felt like stepping into someone's home. "I trust there were no difficulties in your arrival?"

"No, Durham, it's basically a skip down Main Street. Boy, your office must have some kind of view."

Doctor Zayne wore a lab coat of black denim over a white shirt tucked into neat black trousers. Next to him another man propped himself up on a cane. He wore weathered pennyloafers and loose blue jeans caked in mud with a button up shirt of dark green plaid. His cheeks and brow were lined with channels like courderoy. Dispite his advanced age Dorothea could make out the same sharp cheeks and jug-handle ears as Zayne had.

"Cool family resemblance. You must be Grandpa Durham."

"This is my younger brother, Cootie."

Cootie quit scratching and pulled his arm around to shake Dorothea's. She smiled.

"Hey, Coot," she said. "I'm Dorothea."

His dry lips pulled up into a grin and revealed the tiny yellow pebbles time had left him for chewing with.

"My brother says you're going to give us a hand with mom," he said.

"We're in negotiations, yes. Still in the talking phase. Not yet in the having-any-clue-what-'s-going-on phase. That's a phase, right, Zayne?"

"Introductions, tours, we are getting there Doctor Darvula."

"Zayne. Hurry."

"I told you Cootie, she's going to crack the whip around here. Does not time elude our endless pursuit?" Durham's long arm stretched out and threw a series of switches mounted on the wall. The elevator closed and retreated to the hospital. Dorothea still had its music stuck in her head. seed earlier As she followed the brothers across the dark orange carpeting, Dorothea dragged her fingers across the walls and clicked her nails on the ridges in the wainscoting. It did nothing to dispel how like a dream everything felt. She heard a door open, and saw the colorful geometric patterns of linoleum beneath her feet. Zayne and Cootie spread out, revealing a kitchen lined in cupboards and counters spilling over with utensils and cookware. Water ran in a sink, and Zayne dipped a dark green vase in its stream. He turned it off and put it on a kitchen table covered in blue gingham and set with four modern-shaped chairs.

"A moment, please," he said. He slipped through one of the two doors.

"Can I get you anything, Ma'am?" Cootie spook from inside the fridge. "There's beer, and I could put on a little coffee."

"A cup of water would suit me fine Cootie. Mind if I take a seat at the table?"

Cootie straightened, and turned. He looked like he was trying to crunch some uncooperative numbers in his head. "Sure, just make sure you sit on the side closest to me, and away from the wall. You'll have to let Zayne in when he sits." He noticed the expression on Dorothea's face. "Sitting in the same spots helps Mom remember." He had three beer bottles in his left hand and, after closing the fridge with his bony little rump, turned one upside down and leveraged it against his knuckle to pop the cap off another. All three were opened, and placed at the seat across from Dorothea. She watched the light play with their smooth glass surfaces as she picked a spot off the plastic gingham tableclothremove earlier.

"Tell me Coot," she said. Coot was filling a kettle at the sink. "Do know much about medicine? Or the sciences?"

"Not especially, Ma'am. I drive a bus for the city."

"In Miama?" A dash of respect crossed Dorothea's face. "You're tough, little brother."

Cootie grinned, and put the kettle on the stove. Flames shot from under it. Cootie adjusted the dial and took a seat with the beers. Across the room a door opened and Zayne ushered in a sharp lush smell with him. In his hand were three white blossoms each as big as his fist. It appeared that Misses Durham enjoyed camellias. Zayne reached over the table and popped them in the vase.

"Doctor Durham, this has been a surprisingly domestic experience. I'm struggling to relate any of this to our previous conversation."

"You sound eager to see the laboratory."

"I'm eager to see anything, Zayne." Dorothea would have felt rude saying this in front of Coot if he hadn't been belching Coors across the table.

"For a doctor, you simply have no patience. Look, a pun! I should think you can give me just a few moments to collect myself before baring the secrets of my work to you."

"I understand, but I could be doing my hair right now. And I don't even do my hair, Zayne."

"You were unfairly punctual, Dorothea, and besides-" the last door in the room opened- "You might find some interest in my private research."

A woman entered the room. She was shorter than the refrigerator, and her face was surrounded by a nimbus of white hair. She hobbled across the kitchen, falling on each step like a


End file.
